


Assassin vs Assassins

by gvarchangel



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvarchangel/pseuds/gvarchangel
Summary: A rude awakening in the middle of the night is never pleasant. It's even worse when the thing that woke you is an assassin. Too bad for the assassin they don't fully realize who they're after...





	Assassin vs Assassins

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12659162/2/The-Adventures-of-Tiny-Corvo
> 
> Here's a recap of the campaign that led to this short story. For simplicity's sake, I'm just liking back to Fanfiction.net. It's easier to tell everyone to go here and read it than pasting it as a section of this story or another chapter, since I've got like 4 other sites to do the same with. So... sorry for mild inconvenience.
> 
> Hey, I didn’t die! I promise. I just… lost a job, got a new job, got another dog, helped two friends move, learned there is such a thing as too much caffeine, and have been figuring out how this whole “parenting” thing works. Yeah, I’ve been busy.
> 
> Hopefully one of these days, I can get around to finishing that “story so far’ thing to show where the campaign actually ended. It got cut short for the Jingles campaign with the missing gods, but it still had a decent resolution. And the better news: Corvo got to continue his adventures through RP with a friend who was familiar-ish with the campaign! He now has an adorable drow/dwarf girlfriend who’s helping him learn how to not be a paranoid asshole, he’s helping her learn how to be a cross-country fugitive. So it works out.
> 
> I promise I’m still writing. It’s just slow and now mostly on my lunch breaks at work. But it’s nice to be semi-back in the groove of it. I’m trying to keep stuff coming. Ya’ll be patient, and I promise I’ve got other stuff I want to post semi-soon. I’ve got a really late Halloween thing mostly done for Jingles, an adorable TalixShepard thing floating around my head. Then I’m going to try getting back into the rhythm of working on Fallen at a regular pace. I really miss that one.
> 
> Anyway, hope everyone enjoys this short little thing in the meantime! I’ll try to have move coming soon!
> 
> Credit for preview art goes to DestinySquared over on Twitter.
> 
> Corvo and the story are mine.  
> Credit to Wizards of the Coast for creating D&D/5e, where this all took place in.

**Assassin vs Assassins**

The vase shatters as it hits the ground. Corvo is upright in bed before the pieces are done spreading. One figure stands in the darkened doorway, the sound of another vase breaking coming from further down the hall. They’re frozen in surprise with a short sword in hand.

The halfling shoots a rope of web from his wrists, catching them at the ankle. He yanks back and takes their feet out with it. As their head slams into the stone floor, he scrambles onto the bedside vanity. Muscle memory has him cinching on his belt of daggers before he dons the raven mask. His eyes adjust to the magic in its wood, the room now appearing bright as day. A pair of knives slip into his hands like old friends.

The assassin is charging him when he turns back around. Corvo jukes away from the thrust at his neck, pushing it with his forearms. Panic shows in their brown eyes when the blade sinks into the furniture instead of him. They weren’t expecting a fight.

“Big mistake,” Covo growls.

He leaps onto their shoulders, vaguely aware of the Hell breaking loose outside. He hears the boom of thunder, cursing, dog howls. It’s all background noise as he focuses on the soon-to-be corpse who just cut him. He gets behind their head, one leg tight around their sword shoulder and one crushing their throat. Both of his knives find their mark under his foe’s collarbone. They scream, and he finally realizes it’s a female under the gray hood.

She swings back at Corvo with a blackjack hidden in her sleeve. He ducks his head out of the way, pulling one dagger back out of her bloodied torso. Already weakened from the first stabs, she can’t resist him lifting her head back and slamming the dagger through the eye slit of her mask. Her body goes limp before the hilt dents the wood.

Corvo rolls off the corpse, blades in each hand again. The chaos down the hall only gets worse: at least one door was just bashed open, and another shout has the cadence of a spell. He pauses for only a second to look over the dead woman on his bedroom floor. Black cloak and hood, a gray mask hiding her face, nothing distinctive about the weapons. His eyebrow quirks as he rushes out of the room. The Rat Conclave should love them, not want them dead. That’s a mystery they can solve later.

He expects carnage outside and isn’t disappointed. One assassin lies dead on the carpet, still smoldering with electricity arcing off him. A second later, another crashes through the door of Bayard’s bedroom, his arm twisted unnaturally behind him. Brownie sinks his teeth into his leg, and Flynn is racing towards the end of the hallway in his long night shirt. “They’ve got Branwen!” he shouts before getting knocked off his feet from a gust of wind.

Corvo’s already moving at full speed. He sees the triggered vase trap he left in Flynn’s room as he passes, another body face down in the shattered ceramic. A tiny grin is on the corner of his mouth as he charges at the injured assassin. They’re scrambling for a crossbow with their one good arm, screaming at Bayard’s approaching form and the hound trying to tear off a limb.

The dog in his way doesn’t slow him down. Corvo vaults over the canine and puts his momentum into the dagger strike. He quickly rationalizes that he still wants answers and this one hasn’t pissed him off yet. The pommel strikes the assassin’s temple, and he shuts up.

Stryker plows into all four of them as he wrestles with his intruder. A sheathed long sword falls to the ground, the hooded figure trying to club Stryker with their blackjack. Corvo rolls away from the brawl while Bayard dives into it. The silent paladin, dressed in fine silk pajamas, pins the assassin against the wall. Bayard barely seems to notice the panicked dagger jabs into his arms: he only nods to the others before hurling his target into the next room.

“They’re taking Branwen! Help me!” Flynn shouts again from the end of the hallway. He’s in some kind of odd shadow down there, tiny shapes circling him as he duels an armored human with his rapier. He’s holding his own, even as his technique falters and more blood runs down his shirt.

At the same time, Dex finally steps out of the last room before the corridor’s end. The tall feline makes a motion with his hand, fire appearing at his fingertips. He throws it into the room directly across from his, but it fizzles out mid-air. His murderous glare intensifies as he pulls a glowing dagger from his robes. “Put her down and burn like a man!”

“Get a move on, Jinx,” Corvo orders, already moving towards the room Dex is trying to burn down and keeping one eye on the wounded Flynn. Stryker keeps pace with his long sword finally drawn. The priorities are already sorted in Corvo’s head: Branwen, Flynn, himself, finish off assassins, get answers, then keep the rest of these idiots alive.

A tempest of wind erupts from the doorway Dex is approaching. The cat crouches and digs his claws into the thick rug, holding his ground. He attempts another spell, chanting something definitely demonic, but nothing happens again. Only dedication and rage burn in the wizard’s eyes.

Stryker tries to dash through the wind towards Flynn, only to be catapulted into Dex’s bedroom. Corvo learns from his example and takes cover in the doorway to peer in. Another assassin, this one unarmed. One hand is up to maintain the wind while the other has Branwen slung over his shoulder.

“Keep low!” Corvo shouts at Dex. Without looking back to see if the cat listened, he throws two daggers at the kidnapper. One flies high and gets caught in the wind, sailing wide. The other catches the fool right in the knee.

Immediately, the spell falters just enough for an opening. Dex leaps forward and sinks his claws into the door frame. Tired of his failed spells, he hurls his own glowing dagger. It sinks low into the kidnapper’s midsection. Luckily on the opposite side as the girl: flames erupt from the knife until a quarter of their torso is burning. Their mask doesn’t muffle their screams.

Corvo tries to slip in just as the caster triples the gust. Dex’s leverage keeps him there, but the halfling is sent end over end across the stone floor. When he stops rolling, his back hitting something fuzzy, he sees a thin mist where the caster used to be. It goes through the wall to the right, down the hallway beyond Flynn’s ongoing duel.

He finds his feet and pushes off the fluffy thing for momentum. When it grunts angrily, he spins with daggers ready. Of all the things he expected to see, a brown bear cub was not one of them. It makes him pause for just a moment before he notices the gold coloring of the front left foot. The same hand Stryker wears his enchanted gauntlet on.

“Bullshit magic...” Corvo grumbles to himself and rushes towards the escaping wizard. He’d given up a week ago on understanding Jinx’s curse. This only confirms he made the right choice.

The assassin with Branwen is making a break for a window, trying to use the fight between Flynn and the armored cleric for cover. Flynn’s managed to dispel the shadow creatures, but his shirt is more blood than fabric now as he dodges her sword swings. Dex has braced himself on the corner and is still hurling fire at the kidnapper, but each one fizzles out mid-air. Corvo uses the cat for cover and snags the escapee’s foot with another web rope. He doesn’t just fall: his sprint sends him crashing through a table and Branwen rolling across the floor. She looks alive, but out cold.

“Gut the bastard,” Corvo states before moving towards Flynn.

The cat doesn’t have to be told twice. He grins evilly, sprinting towards his target.

Corvo finally joins the duel and channels the magic in his mask. The air around the three of them fills with choking darkness. Only through the green glow of his mask’s eyes can the thief see. He pulls Flynn by the shoulder, away from the cleric’s wild swing. “She’s mine. Hide.”

Flynn doesn’t get a chance to say anything. Corvo pushes him out of the void and towards the bedrooms. Flynn can’t even find the words to argue through his bloodloss daze.

When Corvo approaches the cleric, she makes two more blind swings at him. Dodging them is child’s play, as is sinking a blade into her thigh. It’s when he’s this close he can see Flynn gave just as much as he took: there’s at least three holes in the human’s torso, flesh blood obscuring her god’s symbol on her chest. Finishing her off almost won’t seem fair.

As he ducks another high swing and counters, this time with stab into her liver, he sees the wizard trying to crawl away from Dex. It’s only because he recognizes the hand motion from the last spell that Corvo knows what’s coming. He leaps back from the cleric and sinks a dagger into the carpet for leverage. The cleric, still blind in the darkness, doesn’t get any kind of warning.

Dex is almost launched as the wizard conjures another gust of wind. Almost; the cat pounces on him claws first. His screams are drowned beneath the tornado created too late to save him. Corvo’s tucked safely into the floor while the cleric is propelled over his head in a mad flail.

With only vengeance in mind, the halfling leaps up onto her. He grabs her by the shoulders and spins them, sending her head first into the floor. The would-be kidnapper’s concentration lapses again as Dex uses him for a scratching post. The windstorm disappears, leaving Corvo on top of the nearly dead cleric.

His first dagger cuts into her shoulder and tears the joint apart. His second is aimed at her blue eyes, ready to pluck them them out of her skull. He growls, wanting to end her, wanting her to kill her for having the audacity to attack him, for daring to touch Flynn and Branwen… but wanting answers more. He spins the dagger around and smacks the grip into her forehead. The strike draws a fair bit of blood that runs down her face, her eyes rolling back into her head. It leaves him somewhat satisfied.

Seconds later as he lets the shadows dissipate, clanking footsteps come rushing. Eight armored guards are sprinting towards them in barely concealed panic. Strikken is tying his robe closed behind the front line. The only one who seems even remotely competent is the pet bodyguard, Bianca. She’s in command as she leads the guards, her dark sword ready for more trouble.

“Took you long enough,” the halfling grumbles, keeping a foot on his victim’s throat as he looks to the new arrivals. “Get cells ready. And some mops. We’ve got captives and corpses.”

“Did you let them in here?” The bodyguard snaps her fingers. Immediately, the two flanking her move to the downed cleric. They cover each other nervously as they chain her hands and feet together. Bianca’s eyes stay firmly on Corvo, appraising him.

“No, just did your damn jobs for you.” He doesn’t bother looking back to the taller folks around him. He’s busy checking the cleric for weapons and tossing them to the side. “If I hadn’t rigged my door, they would’ve gotten Branwen, killed your boss, and probably half of us. You’re welcome.”

She glares down at him. After a moment, she grabs his wrist and yanks it away from the cleric. “And it’s coincidence they knew how to get in here, thief?”

For just a moment, his left hand twitches towards one of the blades on his belt. Instead he spits on the cleric’s holy symbol and begins wiping away the blood. His eyes stay firmly on the armor. “Strikken. Call your dog off.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Dex drags a bloodied, screaming body to them. Their wizard has nearly been shredded by the cat, in addition to the two stab wounds and still-burning robes. He’s trying to plead, maybe, but it’s only panicked babbling.

“We should hold onto him too.” The cat grins with malice as he watches his captive try to scoot away from him. He adds a hiss for dramatic effect, sending him scrambling to the safety of the guards.

Strikken finally steps forward. Even in the middle of the night, he’s doing his best to look composed. That falters when he sees the almost-corpses in front of him. But then he snaps back to the noble facade he wears all day. “Bianca, they are our guests until proven otherwise. _These_ are the trespassers. See to it the living are locked away and the dead are disposed of.”

The bodyguard stares hard at both of the adventurers for several seconds before nodding. She releases Corvo and snaps her fingers. “Round up the rest of them. Chain them all. Stabilize who we can. Do not leave any of them unguarded until we’ve confirmed they’re dead.”

Corvo swipes a healing potion from a guard walking past and forces it down the cleric’s throat. It does nothing for all the blood already spilled, but her visible wounds immediately close. He finally cleans off her holy symbol, revealing some kind of corrupted beetle with the vague impression of a skull on it. He doesn’t recognize it, but he files it away in his mind for later.

“Keep these two alive,” he says, gesturing to the cleric and the now-shackled wizard. “Separate cells. They’re probably the brains... They’re mine in the morning.”

As Corvo leaves them to check on Branwen, he hears a bout of chaos erupt near their bedrooms. Flynn must’ve put his assassin to sleep magically: they woke up just in time to be clobbered by the guards. Bayard and Stryker are helping ensure everyone gets restrained appropriately. Corvo half expects to see Jinx dancing or with a tuft of fur still on his neck, but the curse seems to have abated.

Flynn’s collapsed on the floor and using the wall to lean on. Branwen seems no worse for wear as she presses towels into the wounds on the bard. Corvo kneels down next to him. “You’re almost as good with that rapier as you are with your mouth.” He allows a small smile.

“Have I ever told you that even your compliments sound like insults?” Flynn gives a shit-eating grin back, then a laugh that immediately becomes a pained cough. “Laughing hurts too, damn it… is everyone alright?”

“Depends. How are you two?”

Branwen places a bloodied hand on her the side of her head. It looks like it’s all from the halfling she’s tending, not her own wounds. “My ears are still ringing. I might have a concussion, I think? Or maybe that sleeping spell isn’t all the way gone. But that’s all.”

Flynn shakes his head while maintaining the smile. He whispers something in elven, maybe, and several of his cuts close themselves a little. “Nothing a little magic can’t fix. Though can it be someone else’s, please? I’m tired.”

“Then you got the worst of it. Blondie and Jinx got a little banged up. Pretty sure Dex vaporized the poor bastard that came after him.” Corvo points to the slash across his forearms. “We’ll live.”

“Good. I was almost worried my heroic duel was all for nothing.” This time when Flynn laughs, the pain’s reduced enough for him to hide it. He flashes another self-sure grin. “That vase trap on my door was you, wasn’t it?”

Corvo nods, glancing towards Branwen. “Only paranoid if you’re wrong. Yours would’ve had one too if you left your damn room more often.”

The human doesn’t seem embarrassed. Certainly not happy about being called out on it, but she comes across only as defensive. She stays quiet as she pushes a fresh towel into a stubborn hole in Flynn’s collarbone.

“How expensive were those vases? Our pay’s not getting docked to replact them, right?” The bard’s eyes flick to Branwen for a beat. Just enough to show he’s changing the subject for her benefit.

Corvo shrugs. “Not my problem. Strikken’s fault he’s got shitty security. He’s lucky I didn’t rig them with crossbows.”

“I’m pretty sure we’d be pushing the limits of hospitality if your traps shot a maid.” Flynn laughs louder than before, letting his head lean back. His exhausted smile remains. “Do we know who they were? The assassins?”

“Rat Conclave, best guess. Same gear.” Corvo shakes his head a little. “We’ve got enough breathing ones to question in the morning. After we put you back together.”

“And a nap. Long enough for my magic come back, please. I’m not sure I could even make my cape billow right now.” His smile disappears for a moment as he focuses. He rubs his hands together, whispers something, and claps once. Around half of the blood on his shirt disappears instantly. The last half takes about a dozen seconds to do the same. The holes from sword stabs remain, unfortunately. Flynn’s smile comes back instantly. “It’s not as bad as I thought, then. Wonderful.”

Corvo stands up and offers a hand. “Shut up. Let’s get you to Jace before you hurt yourself showing off.”

Branwen gets under Flynn’s arm and helps him to his feet on the other side. Corvo’s vaguely aware of the feeling of being watched, but focuses on the bard. Though he’s a little shorter than Flynn, he finds a way to support him over his shoulders so they can limp together.

When he turns them around, he comes face to face with Stryker. The walking curse looks embarrassed, like his mother caught him with his pants down. Bayard is behind him, but the expression reads more like surprise. It takes Corvo hearing Branwen make a stifled noise for him to realize why.

Everyone but Corvo slept in some kind of pajama set. Wearing only pants, a belt, and his mask, they’re getting their first look at what’s always hidden under his armor. He doesn’t care about his borderline malnourished frame, how little muscle actually clings to his bones. But he’s painfully aware of every scar on display for them.

They’re not just old stab wounds and claw marks. There’s several of those after decades of thieving and adventuring. A few burns are mixed in from a little of everything: fire giants, an exploding alchemist’s lab, the Hellhounds he dodged as a kid. Some other odds and ends from things he’s forgotten he’s killed. He doesn’t mind those. But he’s acutely aware of the whipping scars that cover his entire back. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed since he got them. There’s dozens of them still visible today, too long and thin to be mistaken for anything else.

Bile and panic rises in his throat. Suddenly he’s very thankful the raven mask covers most of his face. He swallows hard and wills the screaming voices in his mind to shut up. They’re wrong. It doesn’t matter what they see. He is not the weakling who got those scars. He is not the whelp who took his beatings instead of fighting back. He is _no one’s p_ _roperty_ _._ He never will be. He will kill and die before he lets it happen again.

They’re just scars. They’re just wounds he was strong enough to take and keep going. These assholes can make whatever assumptions they want. It won’t change who he is. Them having even a vague idea of where he came from doesn’t matter… for a few beats, he almost believes himself.

“Help me or get out of my way.” Corvo puts as much gruff as he can into his voice, pushing through them. They part just enough for him to slip past, Flynn clinging to his side. No one says anything, and only Branwen follows them. If the bard is aware of the tension in his partner, he doesn’t show it. He just limps next to Corvo towards some magic healing and rest.

The thief grits his teeth and keeps quiet. Internally, he continues to force the blind, unfounded fear down as deep as he can. He reminds himself that he’s stronger than it. He’s been faster, smarter, stronger than every bounty hunter and mercenary sent his way for decades. A stupid knee jerk reaction of emotion isn’t going to best him now.

As they continue down the hallway, they pass Dex negotiating with the guards. Their weapons are drawn, not on him but at the man beside him. What’s left of him, anyway. Dex’s reanimated the assassin he electrocuted earlier and is now wanting the keys to his shackles. Corvo shakes his head and continues on, trying to mind his own business. He’s not even surprised.

They don’t get away quick enough to miss the cat saying, “Do I need to burn his head off to prove he’s a zombie? I can do that!” The hallway is immediately filled with the smell of burning hair.

Corvo, Flynn, and Branwen start walking faster. 


End file.
